


Crows and Corpses

by Captains_Orders



Series: Queen of Crows [1]
Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst, Character Death, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-04
Updated: 2015-08-04
Packaged: 2018-04-12 22:30:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4497162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captains_Orders/pseuds/Captains_Orders
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every day of pain she remembers, and they help her mark the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crows and Corpses

**Author's Note:**

> I am a horrible person with horrible sad headcanons and I can't stop.
> 
> I can't stay away from the thought of what happened to the Vuvalini (The Valkyrie especially) and so I decided to muse on it a bit and make myself bone crushingly sad in the process. 
> 
> Of course I decided to share it.  
> This is how I welcome myself to AO3 posting what is wrong with me...

She remembers the day Furiosa was taken; it fades in and out like a mirage, unclear but ever lingering in the memories from her youth. It was to be Furiosa’s first patrol, where her mother would take her out around the defenses of their home. It was a rite of passage all the girls went through when they reached past four-thousand days. It had been a good day, bright and almost cool under the sun. She was practicing her aim with Quick under the stern guidance of K.T. when the cry went up.

“RAID!” And then there is chaos, frantic movement amongst the Vuvalini as they scrambled for defensive positions. 

“Stay here.” K.T. had ordered sharply before bounding off to join the counter assault. Dust is already kicked up high in the distance and her grip had tightened on the rifle in her hands like a lifeline. Beyond that it is a blur of being bustled off by Keeper as shots rang in the distance. It ended as quickly as it began, and when it’s over they have lost one mother to a bullet and Furiosa and the revered Mary Jo Bassa are gone. Valkyrie shed no tears when K.T. told her, but that night she had sobbed quietly into her blankets for her sister. It was the last time she had wept. 

Every day of pain she remembers, and they help her mark the time. 

She births a son in blood and agony and he is half-life. He does not last three-hundred days before he is taken by night fevers. A part of her deep within mourns the loss of the child she never named, but K.T. makes it easier. 

“It’s a mercy.” She had said. “Better now than later, less suffering.” She nodded, numb to all feeling as she buried the product of her womb. “At least it wasn’t a girl.” Her initiate mother had said with a pat to her shoulder before leaving her to her task. Valkyrie thought she was right. A girl would have been named. A girl would have been strong. If she’d had a girl her name would have been Fury and she would have lived and been strong, strong like the little fury that who had been taken.

Quick gets sick with the green and dies much the same; she’s holding her when she goes. It’s a slow passing, so unlike the woman in her arms and she breathes out her last in a whisper to live. No tears are shed.

K.T. dies in the last raid on the Green Place that is no longer green, and she grieves in stone-faced silence.

The Many Mothers of the Green Place are now few and mothers of nothing but sand. Their once great tribe has been reduced to scavenging like the crows that took their home. She has killed many for that offence, the stringy meat feeds her people and their feathers she adorns to everything she has. Defiance, revenge, she doesn’t know why but it helps in some odd way. 

It’s three-hundred days after the death of the Green Place when she first feels the sickness set in. It comes and goes like the desert storms in its intensity. When it started she ignored it, denied the signs, but Keeper knew. The old crone could tell instantly that something was wrong, and she fusses, and watches, and feeds her bits of precious herbs saved from home. It helps and it doesn’t, but it’s all that can be done. Valkyrie does not let it stop her, the wasteland is hard but so is she, and she will not be taken by night fevers. 

Days come and go and now the once great Vuvalini of Clan Swaddle Dog are small and slowly dying, wasting away in the sand, focused on survival and little else. They never moved far from the corpse of green turned bog. They build a watchtower from scrap, much like the ones they once had, only now they use it to raid and scavenge. It is there that Valkyrie sits bare to the wind, as she often does, mimicking a cry for help that feels much too real, when a rig comes from the west. She sees a bounty that will do well for her clan, but it stops like the driver knows her purpose and out steps a woman with arms out stretched and a voice filled with strength. 

The sound of the name Furiosa changes everything.


End file.
